


Two Shillings and a Penny

by Tashilover



Category: Endeavour
Genre: Gore, Prostitute AU, Unfinished
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:43:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9536471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: When a local man is brutally murdered, Thursday talks to the last person who saw him alive; a rentboy named Endeavour.UNFINISHED.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Lost all drive to write this, but didn't want to delete. Hope ya'll enjoy!
> 
> Warning: Prostituion, slut shaming, gore, dub-con, non-con, effiy grammer.

"Young, isn't he?"

It was such a stupid thing to say. Thursday has seen them younger, girls as young as twelve on the streets, asking for treats, wiggling their hips suggestively. On days like those he wanted to throw down his badge and walk away forever, knowing no matter what he did, nothing was ever going to change.

It was rare when he came across a _man_ selling himself. Usually they were older men, sneaking behind alley ways, in the corners of pubs. The youngest Thursday had ever arrested was thirty-one. The kid sitting in the cell was only nineteen.

Just a kid. The boy rested his elbows on his knees, trying to keep himself still as his large blue eyes darted back and forth worryingly.

"Young or not, he was still caught _whoring_ himself out-"

"Jakes," Thursday chastised lightly.

"... Prostituting himself on Bay street," Jakes corrected himself. "He's lucky, though. He doesn't have any previous convictions, so it's likely he'll be let go before the morning."

Good. That was... good. "Did you ask why?"

Jakes made a face. "Why would I bother? That's not the point."

"Maybe not, but sex workers don't do it for the fame. Maybe he just needed a little extra cash for the road."

"I'll look into it," Jakes sighed, a little put out. "Let me finish my cigarette and I'll talk to him again."

With a slow drag of his cigarette, he dropped the file onto his desk. Some of the pages inside shifted so the picture and name of the boy peeked out. As Jakes walked away to use the loo, Thursday picked up the file.

He flipped it open and the name stood out to him like a blinking light in the dark sky.

Endeavour Morse. Thursday couldn't help but make a face at the name. It was certainly a mouthful, but ironic that someone named Endeavour would find himself arrested for prostitution. Thursday was not going to laugh, though he wanted to.

He glanced over to the boy one last time who was staring at a wall, his brows creased in deep thought. Jakes was right, this Endeavour was going to be set loose perhaps in another hour or so.

Thursday dropped the file back on Jakes' desk, pushing the matter out of his mind.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

His wife once asked him, 'Do you ever stop being a cop?'

She didn't mean it in a bitter or negative way. She was truly curious. Thursday tried not to share too much of his world with her, feeling like if he did, he was tainting her somehow. Even with something as simple as sharing standard procedures, he didn't want to share.

"It's nearly impossible to stop," he said to her truthfully. "You notice things, even when you're not looking. For example... there," he pointed to a group near a traffic light. "A drug deal is going down over there."

In surprise, Winny nearly dropped her cup of tea. "What, really?" She said, peering at where his finger pointed. "How can you tell?"

There was a group of five of them, four adults and a teenage boy. To an untrained eye, they simply look like a five random strangers, waiting for the light to change. Thursday knew better.

"The boy is a lookout," Thursday said. "You see how his head keeps looking from side to side, as if making sure no cars are coming? The other four have been passing small bags and probably money amongst themselves."

"Oh my! Will you do something about it?"

Thursday huffed. "Psshh, no. I am not about to ruin my lunch with my lovely, lovely wife to arrest a bunch of morons, only to have them back on the street in another hour. Not worth the time."

"But what about the boy?"

"Most likely a younger brother of the group. He'll spot me the moment I take two steps towards him, he'll sound the alarm and they'll scatter."

It was the unfortunate truth and there was truly nothing Thursday could've done to stop it. But the information bothered Win so much, she lost her appetite, and the rest of the afternoon- though pleasant- was tainted by it. Thank goodness Thursday didn't mention their waiter had been found a week earlier with a needle in his arm.

Thursday hadn't been lying. After doing this job for nearly two decades, he could spot a criminal from a mile away.

So when he spotted the boy, Endeavour, standing at the curb of an office building only a day after his arrest, Thursday cursed out loud.

All he planned to do today was buy Win's birthday gift. Maybe a new pair of gloves or that perfume she kept talking about with Joan. Hell, he should've brought Joan along, she could've been a great asset to him.

Jakes had the car, leaving Thursday to travel on foot. He didn't mind, sometimes it was good for him to exercise his legs. In order to get to the shops down on this street, he would have to pass Endeavour directly.

In truth, Thursday was surprised the boy was doing this so _early_. Most prostitutes waited till sunset to come out. To do so in the light of day risked themselves and their clients. He must really be desperate for money.

A car rolled up right in front of Endeavour. Thursday cocked his head, mutely watching from a distance, as the window rolled down and the head of the potential client popped out.

"Fucking hell," Thursday growled. He stepped off the curb and started making his way towards them quickly.

That man in the car was Jimmy Links, a repeated abuser of his wife, his girlfriends, and a few poor civilians who brushed him in the wrong way. He's been known to slap kids across the face for bumping into him. Jimmy was a _sadist_. No matter how much money Endeavour needed, it wasn't worth risking the broken nose, arm or finger for it.

Just as Endeavour bent down to enter the vehicle, Thursday came up, grabbed him by the arm and hauled him back. "This one is mine," Thursday growled. "Piss off."

It looked like for a second Jimmy was going to get out of the car and fight for what was his. He was already halfway out, a snarl on his lips, then immediately recognized Thursday.

Sadist or not, Jimmy was not going to bother arguing with a cop. Even one who was off-duty. With a dismissive huff, he gave one last lustful leer at Endeavour, climbed back into his car, then drove away. He nearly ran a stop sign as he did so.

Thursday released a breath he didn't know he was holding. As confident as Thursday was in his strength, Jimmy probably carried a knife or gun on him. Punks like him usually did.

Thursday turned to the boy, opening his mouth to explain the reason why he lost Endeavour a meal ticket, and saw Endeavour flinching lightly in pain.

"Sorry," Thursday said, releasing his grip. He didn't know he was holding the boy so hard. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Endeavour rubbed his wrist. He shook his head silently.

"Look," Thursday continued. "The reason I stopped you is because that man there is a bad man. He's been known to hurt some of the gir- the workers around these parts. You're better off without him."

"I've dealt with him before. I can handle it."

"Kid, look-"

"Are you going to arrest me or not? Because whether you know this or not, Jimmy Links pays _good money_ , and that's the reason so many of us are willing to deal with him. Now thanks to you, I have to be with at least _three_ customers to compensate what I could've earned with him. So either arrest me or piss off because I got work to do."

Goddamn it. This was exactly the reason why Thursday never bothered arresting prostitutes, even when he was a young constable and his superior officers demanded he did. So many sex workers only did it to pay rent or to buy food for their kids. Putting them in jail wasn't going to make them stop, it simply made them lose business for a day.

"Sorry," Thursday said. "I-"

" _Or_..." Endeavour interrupted, his voice suddenly taking on a different tone. He took a step forward, crowding into Thursday's space. "You did say I was... _yours_. Is there a place you want to go?"

Oh god. "No," said Thursday. "I'm married."

"Hasn't stopped men before-"

"I said NO," he grasped Endeavour by the shoulders and forcibly made him take a step back. "Listen, Endeavour-"

"Morse."

"Huh?"

"I'd prefer it if people didn't call me by my first name," he said seriously. "It's bad for business."

Oh. Okay. "Morse," Thursday said. "Look, Jimmy Links has a reputation for beating his girlfriends. I didn't want to see you hurt."

"I'm fine," he snapped, shrugging off Thursday's loose grip and turning away. Without another word, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took off down the road, hunching in on himself.

Thursday rubbed a tired hand over his eyes, groaning. As frustrating as that was, at least he was confident he wasn't going to see that boy in the hospital later on, sporting a new broken arm.

What Thursday didn't expect was to see Jimmy Links in the hospital that very night, in a body bag.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

"Final cause of death," DeBryn said, pulling off his gloves. "Blood loss from multiple stab wounds."

That was one way to say it. Jimmy Links laid flat on the examining table, his chest bearing the necessary Y cut. There were bruises around his wrists, like he had been tied down but no rope was found at the scene. There were no defensive wounds on his hands either, suggesting heavily he had been bound when he was attacked.

Someone took a small knife, like a butter knife perhaps, and stabbed Jimmy over and over around his pelvis, thighs and genitals. One of the stab wounds had severed his artery.

As loathsome as Jimmy was, Thursday couldn't help but feel his own _balls_ wanting to crawl up into his body. What a way to go. "Was there anything suggesting he was having sex when he died?"

"No semen," said Debryn. "No vaginal secretion found. If this," he waved a hand over the wounds. "Is an indication of rape, there are no bodily fluids to back up that claim."

" _Someone_ had it in for him," Jakes said, turning away in disgust. He was lightly flinching, his legs hitching as if he wanted to cross his knees. "Jesus Christ..."

"Thank you, doctor," Thursday said to DeBryn.

DeBryn nodded, then pulled the sheet up and over Jimmy's face one last time.

"This is not going to be an easy case to solve, sir," Jakes said once they left the coldness of the morgue. "Jimmy Links had a rap sheet nearly a mile long. I know at least a dozen girls who would've love to stab Jimmy in the groin. That's not including his wife and girlfriends."

"We can question them later," Thursday said. "Right now, I want to talk to the last person who may have seen Jimmy alive."

"Yeah? Who's that?"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Thursday decided to do this alone, sending Jakes off to question Jimmy's wife and other beaus. While Thursday was not fooling himself into thinking he had some sort of _connection_ with Morse from that five minute conversation earlier in the day, he couldn't help feel the boy would talk to him regardless.

Like other prostitutes, Morse had his own specific haunts. It was a damn miracle Thursday found him almost immediately. Morse could be off on a job as soon as Thursday showed.

Morse was leaning against a wall, right beneath a street lamp, one leg propped up. His head was down as he read from a green hardcover book. For some sex workers, they tried to look inconspicuous to deter passing citizens by either reading or pretending to wait for a friend.

The moment Morse registered the sound of footsteps, he immediately bookmarked his page before looking up. He scowled. "You know, this could be considered harassment."

"What is it you're reading?"

An odd question, but Thursday was genuinely curious. Because the books were often used as a front, the books the girls had on them were the cheap, thin paperbacks sold at petrol stations. The fact Morse brought with him a hardcover book and was actually _reading it_ while on the job surprised Thursday.

Just as surprised by the question, Morse showed him the cover.

" _Beowulf_?" Thursday said. "Pretty heavy reading."

"It's my own personal copy," Morse said in a defensive tone. "I've had it since college."

Thursday bit down on his lip before the words _You went to college?_ came tumbling out. That was neither here nor there. "I need to ask you a few questions."

"I'm working right now, I'll answer them later."

"Jimmy Links is dead."

Morse jerked. "Really? How?"

"Someone stabbed him multiple times in the groin."

"That suggests it was personal," Morse said, his face screwing up in distaste. He then blinked in realization, groaned and said, "You think it's me."

"You were one of the last people to see him alive."

"So were _you_ ," Morse snapped back.

"Calm down. Look, I am not accusing you of anything, I am just trying to gain information and establish a timeline. Alright?"

"...alright."

"Okay. After I left, did Jimmy try to come back to you?"

"No."

"Do you have any idea where he might have gone next? Does he have... favourites? Someone in particular he might have gone to?"

"Good lord, nobody wants to be Jimmy's favourite. You only said yes to him if you were desperate."

Thursday raised an eyebrow. "Were you... desperate this afternoon?"

"I do what I have to."

He said it darkly, giving no room for Thursday to ask why. Thursday decided not to fight the boy on his reasons. "Is there anything else you can tell me? Something you may have noticed."

"Was he robbed?"

"Huh?"

"Jimmy," Morse clarified. "Jimmy keeps on him a great deal of money. Was he robbed?"

"I'm the detective, Morse," Thursday said, scowling. "I'm the one asking questions."

"You may not have said it, you're running under the assumption one of us did it. While we may be whores, Inspector, we are not murderers."

"You are also not a police officer," Thursday said. "I am not your enemy here, Morse. I have no desire to keep you or your friends from your job."

"Then what the fuck were you doing this afternoon?"

"Oh, Christ. You're not going to let that go, are you?"

"Tell me if Jimmy was robbed and maybe I will."

They stared at each other. Morse was only a few inches shorter than Thursday, but the boy was so thin, it made him look smaller. Combined with his loose, curly hair and giant, blue eyes, he also appeared younger than he was.

For reasons unknown to Thursday, he couldn't help liking the boy. He fought to keep the smirk off his lips.

"No," said Thursday finally. "He wasn't. We already established by being stabbed in the groin, someone had it out for him-"

"Was the condom still in his purse?"

Thursday jerked. "What?"

Morse wasn't joking. "The condom. Did he have the condom?"

"I..." Thursday had to think back to the personal effects. He remembered a watch, a few gold rings, nearly two hundred pounds, a few business cards... "Yes," he said after a minute. "I remember seeing a grey foil."

"Then it wasn't a prostitute," Morse said with absolute certainty. "As much of a bastard Jimmy was, he always used a condom, no matter what."

"He could have just replaced it."

"He also liked taking his time. What was estimated time of death?"

"Around three." Thursday mentally kicked himself for sprouting off that information without thinking.

"It was 1:30 when he came to me. That's not enough time for him to find another worker. Someone else got to him. I don't think it was his wife: his wife hates blood."

"I hear he has a girlfriend."

"Out of town. When she's not available for sex, Jimmy comes to us."

Thursday studied the boy. There was a chance he was lying, trying to protect himself or another girl. It was all still so very impressive though. Morse was obviously an intelligent, well-read young man, and Thursday didn't need to see Beowulf to confirm that. "Is there anything else you can think of? Was there any recent hostility towards Jimmy from rival gangs you noticed?"

"Jimmy liked to gripe, but he didn't exactly share his inner stories with us."

"Alright. Thank you for your insight, Morse. If you have anything else to share, here," Thursday pulled out his card and gave it to him. "Don't hesitate to call."

Morse hummed in acknowledgement. Then his stomach growled.

Thursday raised an eyebrow. "When's the last time you ate?"

"I'll eat when I get work," Morse said, turning away self-consciously. "I'll be fine."

"I didn't ask when's the _next time_ you eat."

"And I told you-"

"Alright, c'mon."

"Wha-?"

Thursday grasped Morse by the elbow and tugged him to follow. When he resisted, Thursday said, "It's cold, and there's a game on tonight. It's highly unlikely you're going to find work. C'mon, there's a pub down the street."

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Twenty minutes later a simple pot pie and an ale was set down in front of Morse. Thursday ordered himself a roast sandwich and a pint.

"I really don't drink," Morse said polietly, pushing the cup of ale away from him.

Thursday pushed it back. "It'll sit well with the pot pie. You also need the extra calories, you're way too skinny."

There was a small griping scowl on the boy's face, but didn't fight Thursday on it. He turned his attention to the pot pie instead. The moment he took the first bite of the fuffly pastry with creamy sauce and chicken, his whole posture immediately relaxed.

"Good?" Thursday asked with a smirk.

"Yes," Morse said, taking a small sip of the ale. The way his eyebrows rose told Thursday he liked that too. "Mmm... thank you for this."

"You're welcome."

They struck up a small, polite conversation. They kept topics off of themselves, and mostly talked about the job, the streets, sharing little interesting tibits of information. Morse was an _excellent_ conversationalist, especially when he talked about the history of Oxford.

Thursday had only meant to drink only a pint. As the conversation continued, so did his drink. He didn't realize he was on his third until he was already halfway through it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Morse suddenly cupped him, rubbing the palm of his hand obscenely against Thursday.

A sudden bloom of quiet pleasure spread through Thursday. For a few seconds he simply stood there, pressing his back against the cool wall, letting Morse touch him. It felt good. It felt really good. As Thursday's dick slowly grew hard in his trousers, Morse expertly undid his belt with one hand, and popped open his button. "Morse..." Thursday said, his throat dry. "I'm... married."

"I know," he said, pulling Thursday's cock out. "You don't need to tell her. I can keep your secrets."

"That's not what I mean..."

He gave a small sigh, closing his eyes, enjoying the way Morse's warm hand stroked him. The beer in his belly was taking away all inhibitions, uncaring where he was, what he was doing or with whom. "Hmmm..."

"I can use my mouth, if you want," said Morse.

Pretty Morse and his pretty mouth, wrapped around Thursday's cock? As lovely as that sounded, Thursday hummed and said, "No, this is... good enough. I like this."

And, his stupid, addled brain added, _it's not technically cheating if he's only using his hands._

"You're so pretty," Thursday said, cupping Morse's face between his hands. "I really... really like your eyes."

He ran his thumbs gently over Morse's brow, his cheek bones, his lips. "I want to kiss you."

"Hmmm... I usually don't allow customers to, ah, kiss me."

Thursday hissed, arching into Morse's grip. That felt so, so good. "But I want to," said Thursday.

Morse licked his lips. "Yes. Yes, alright. I..."


End file.
